Voice Mail
by Julie Frost
Summary: He hates being the dirty mistress, but he is anyway.


**Voice Mail #1**

_Summary:_ He hates being the dirty mistress, but he is anyway.

_A/N:_ I just can't say "no" to Dr. McSteamy, you guys! He's so hot and..._(drool)_

In true _Grey's Anatomy_ fashion, I decided to make this fic's title that of a song. FYI, "Voice Mail #1" is from the musical RENT, which is, like, the best musical ever.

This is a one-shot, but if you guys want me to write a continuation (Addison/Mark, of course), I'm veeeery open to the idea. :) This fic is best read while listening to "No Trace" by Adam Pascal or "Like a Star" by Corinne-Bailey Rae (the song used in the episode "Yesterday" -- that's the one with McSteamy in it).

Cheers!

* * *

She'll probably delete it, but I don't care. 

My $400-an-hour shrink says that it's because behind this rugged and confident exterior, I'm self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree.

But really, I'm just a mess.

I am Mark Sloan, the top plastic surgeon in the East Coast. Being the insensitive, egotistical jerk that I am, I feel free enough to say that I am rich, smart, handsome, and I can have any girl I want. But the _one_ woman I want, the only one I want, is all the way in Seattle with a husband who doesn't love her back. So I leave messages.

I whip out my phone, dial her number -- muscle memory -- and press the "Call" button.

_"Hey, it's me again. I still want you back here in New York, Addison, and I don't care that you didn't show up at the bar that night. Please call me."_

She won't. I'm sloppy seconds, the dirty mistress. All I am to her is a piece of ass, and yet I still love her. Hey, maybe I really am self-destructive and self-loathing to an almost pathological degree. Or maybe I'm just pathetic.

Derek's a good man, and I know that. He was my best friend for a reason. Through med school, and internship, when I took up plastic surgery and he took up neuro, that guy was always there for me. He'd invite me over for Thanksgiving knowing that I had no real family to come home to. Every year, he'd bug me, Santa hat and all, and try to make me see why Christmas is so great, even though he knows I hate it. And then I go and fall for his wife like the jackass that I am.

He didn't deserve it.

Of course, he doesn't know how I really felt. He probably knows that she fucked me just because he was never around and she was bored and lonely, but he doesn't know that I love her. I knew, the whole time it happened I knewshe was just using me to get back at him, but all I wanted was to be with her, even if I was just some guy who was there to keep her bed warm while Derek was staying overtime at the hospital. Addison isn't someone I can say "no" to.

He doesn't know what he's got. Even if she's flown to Seattle to patch things up with him, even if she loves him, he's only got eyes for that intern, what's-her-face. Of course, I can relate. There are plenty of beautiful girls at the bar down the street every night, but none of them will ever compare to Addison. But she loves Derek, and I can't compete with that guy, so I settle for being the dirty mistress.

She's not here, but I remember every detail of her. She doesn't smile a lot, but the room brightens up when she does. Sometimes, she extends her pinky while holding a cup of coffee. She couldn't cook or clean even if her life depended on it, but she was excellent with kids. When she ties her hair back, she always leaves two locks framing either side of her face. She loves rocky road ice cream, but she only eats it when she's really depressed. She has the most wonderful green eyes -- they had this naughty gleam in them when we were alone together, they lost all their sparkle when she was sad. And looking into them after Derek had walked out on us...I knew I'd lost her.

I hated seeing her so broken when I tried to get her to come back home to New York. Lord knows I didn't want to hurt her by telling her that her own husband was in love with somebody else, but I just wanted her with me. I would do anything.

Under the dim yellow light of the lamp on my desk, I studied a picture of the three of us -- Addison, Derek, and I. It's the only one I have of her. We were so happy back then...back before I ruined it all. I wish I hadn't done it. I'd end up the same, anyway. Alone and wanting her.

I look at the phone in my hand. She's never going to call. I knew she wouldn't show up at the bar, even before that intern chick told me. But I still leave messages. Everyday. I still went to Seattle. I still waited at the bar for a good five hours. Every time someone calls me, I keep wishing it's her. I still think about her a lot. All this effort over a lost cause.

Disillusionment sucks.

Why can't I just be happy for her?

I call again. My call gets redirected to voice mail. Again._"Hey, Addison. I should probably stop wasting money on a daily basis, so this is my last voice mail. Forget what I said in Seattle, I hope things work out between you and Derek. You both deserve the best. I'll still be here in the same old place in New York if you ever change your mind. I'll show up in Seattle again if you want me to. And I still hope you'll call. Love, Mark."_

She'll never call.

He'll never love her as much as I do.

I'd call Derek to apologize for what I did, but I don't want anyone to think I have, like, a heart or anything. I'm just the dirty mistress, and that's all I'll ever really be. It's okay.


End file.
